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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28516860">give me a dream</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler'>envysparkler</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, so he comes home</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:54:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,075</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28516860</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce wakes up to see someone creeping into his bed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bruce Wayne &amp; Dick Grayson &amp; Tim Drake &amp; Jason Todd, Dick Grayson &amp; Jason Todd, Jason Todd &amp; Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake &amp; Jason Todd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>182</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1378</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Red Hood vs Red Robin</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>give me a dream</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic was spawned by several different things—that prompt floating around somewhere about Jason getting homesick during his world tour of assassins and coming home, my musings on 'alaskan king' and what if Jason <em>did</em> use to crawl into Bruce's bed after a nightmare, and iselsis starting a resurrected-Jason-returns-to-Gotham au—all culminating in a 'Jason gets homesick and goes to his dad's bed like he always used to do after a nightmare' idea, but told from Bruce's pov.</p><p>(So, really, this is Ise's fault.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>The bed shifted, and Bruce woke with the years of training himself to sudden alertness, automatically squinting through the darkness to catch the intruder—</p><p> </p><p>Silk sheets.  Soft pillows.  This was <em>his</em> bed, which meant the intruder was probably one of his children.</p><p> </p><p>Dick was supposed to be in Bludhaven, and Tim was still strenuously insisting that he was a guest, though, so this truly <em>was</em> a puzzle—</p><p> </p><p>The curtains shifted, silver light falling across a face that Bruce could recognize anywhere.  <em>Older</em>, something in his mind whispered, features slightly askew—vibrant green eyes and a pinched scowl—but none of it mattered.</p><p> </p><p>“Jason?” he asked softly.</p><p> </p><p>The figure paused, half-underneath the covers.  “Dad,” Jason said hesitantly, and Bruce slipped all the way into a smile.</p><p> </p><p>A dream then.  Bittersweet, given what he knew he was going to wake up too, but he’d cling to this one for as long as he could.</p><p> </p><p>“Jay,” Bruce repeated, drawing the covers back to make it easier for Jason to wriggle under the sheets, “Jay-lad.”  There were tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, but it didn’t matter.  It wasn’t real.</p><p> </p><p>Closer, he could see the tension across Jason’s face, the frown narrowing his eyes, the suspicion in his gaze—his sweet child, always so mistrustful, how it killed Bruce to look at that face and see the guarded expression that rarely ever fell—and he reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear, marveling at soft, warm skin.</p><p> </p><p>This was a dream.  It was a dream, and it would end, and so Bruce would savor it for every second he had.</p><p> </p><p>He gripped Jason’s shoulder and drew him closer, ignoring his son’s squeak as he hugged him, holding him close and burying his face in those dark curls, reveling in the feeling of the heartbeat against his chest as an arm slowly slung over his back.</p><p> </p><p>“Bruce?” Jason asked, voice lower and deeper than it’d been when he died.</p><p> </p><p>“My son,” Bruce hummed, and squeezed his eyes tight when he felt the tension relax out of Jason’s frame.</p><p> </p><p>He was bigger too, broad and tall, nearly a match for Bruce now, and the tears finally slipped free at this perfect, poisonous look at what Jason could’ve been.  Had he lived.  Had Bruce not failed him.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m so sorry,” Bruce whispered, and curled tighter around his son.  A hand fisted into the back of his shirt, but there was no reply.</p><p> </p><p>He laid there, in the darkness, listening to his son breathe, listening to his son’s heart beat, luxuriating in every single detail—Jason, here, Jason, alive, Jason, warm and breathing and <em>whole—</em>and praying for it to never end.</p><p> </p><p><em>Let me be selfish</em>, Bruce begged, <em>just this once</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Darkness wrapped around him, and lulled him to the tune of his dead son’s heartbeat.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He woke to the sound of a crash.</p><p> </p><p>Bruce startled up, blinking bleary eyes, and saw Alfred in the doorway, as pale as a ghost, the coffee mug in pieces on the floor.  <em>Hurt</em>, some part of his mind immediately threw up, <em>something’s wrong—</em></p><p> </p><p>“B?” murmured a sleepy voice, and Bruce relaxed.  It was still a dream, then.  Obviously.  Alfred wouldn’t <em>drop</em> any of the utensils.  That was silly.</p><p> </p><p>“Master Bruce?” Alfred said, in a pitch Bruce had never heard before.</p><p> </p><p>“Alfred?” Jason murmured, and Bruce leaned down to soothe his son, running a hand through the curls and watching fondly as Jason cracked his jaw in a sleepy yawn.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay,” Bruce hushed, pressing a kiss to his forehead—warm, not cold, not bleeding, not pale.  <em>It’s just a dream</em>, he didn’t say, because he didn’t want it to shatter.  He would cling to it, a miser hoarding gold, and no one was around to rebuke him for being selfish.</p><p> </p><p>“Master Bruce?” Alfred repeated, faint.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay, Alfred,” Bruce said, “I think I’ll take breakfast here, with Jason.”</p><p> </p><p>Alfred paled alarmingly, and Bruce almost frowned—he didn’t want to leave Jason, but he also didn’t want Alfred to fall, even in a dream—but Alfred steadied himself and headed out with one last glance at the bed.</p><p> </p><p>Bruce had been expecting some sort of snippy comment about overindulgent fathers and Jason having school, but Alfred had looked like he’d seen a ghost.</p><p> </p><p>Bruce sighed.  Even his dreams made sure he couldn’t forget the truth.</p><p> </p><p>“Jason,” he said, just to see his son’s face twitch at the name, “Jason.  Jason.  <em>Jason</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>What</em>, old man?” Jason mumbled, turning so that his face was fully muffled by the pillow, “M’sleeping.”</p><p> </p><p>“Jay-lad,” Bruce murmured, slowly stroking the dark curls as his heart ached.  Not just what he lost, no, but what <em>could’ve</em> been—if Jason had a family that loved him, if Jason had never been on the streets, if Jason had never been <em>Robin—</em></p><p> </p><p>“Bruce?” a quiet, hesitant voice said from the doorway, and Bruce smiled as he raised his head to greet his youngest child.</p><p> </p><p>“Tim,” he said, raising an arm in invitation, “Come here.”</p><p> </p><p>Tim darted a nervous glance at Alfred, and whispered something to the old butler, lower than Bruce could hear.  Jason made a sleepy grumble.</p><p> </p><p>“Tim,” Bruce coaxed—this was his dream, which meant that anything was possible.  It meant that he could have Tim and Jason both, even though he had only stumbled upon the child because Jason was gone.</p><p> </p><p>Tim shot another glance at him—the typical deer-in-headlights look he got whenever Bruce attempted to offer affection—but this was a dream, so instead of retreating with transparent excuses, Tim sidestepped the broken shards of the mug and cooling puddle of coffee and warily drew near the bed.</p><p> </p><p>Bruce gave him an encouraging smile as he clambered on top—he was approaching them with the body language of a fight, tense, his eyes fixed on Jason, so Bruce caught his arm and pulled him closer.  Tim squawked as he lost balance and fell against Bruce, and Bruce bundled him under the covers before he could protest, tugging him until he was half on top of Bruce and half on top of a sleepily annoyed Jason.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s that?” Jason murmured, twisting sharply, and Tim fell, with a yelp, into the now-empty space between the two of them.  Jason blinked his eyes open, and the sleep cleared quickly from his eyes as his frown turned all the way into a snarl.</p><p> </p><p>“What,” Jason hissed, suddenly furious, “Is <em>this</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>Tim pressed back against Bruce as Bruce sighed.  “Jay,” he said, reaching out to rub a thumb over Jason’s cheekbone, “Be nice to your brother.”</p><p> </p><p>Tim made a small, muffled sound of terror as Jason’s eyes flashed.</p><p> </p><p>“Tim,” Bruce soothed, running a hand through Tim’s hair—it was so <em>soft—</em>and nudging him towards Jason, “It’s okay, it’s just Jay.”</p><p> </p><p>“Just Jay,” Jason repeated, a strange expression stealing over his face—on anyone else, Bruce would’ve called it <em>cruel</em>.  “I’ll be <em>nice</em> to my <em>brother</em>.”  He reached out for Tim—who attempted to escape, but Bruce laughed and caught Tim’s wrists, watching with amusement as Jason wrapped Tim in a full-body hug.</p><p> </p><p>“Bruce,” Tim wheezed, “<em>Help</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason laughed, low and dark, squeezing tighter.</p><p> </p><p>“Bruce,” Tim gasped, his face going red, “I can’t breathe.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s just a hug,” Bruce hummed, pressing a kiss to Tim’s forehead.  Now if Dick was here, his dream would be complete.</p><p> </p><p>Bruce cast a glance around the room—he didn’t know how dream rules worked, but he was half-expecting to see Dick perched on the side table with a grin.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Bruce</em>,” Tim said, strangled.  His eyes were wide and watery—he looked afraid.  Bruce felt something in his heart seize—the dream was ending, he could feel it.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, <em>Replacement</em>,” Jason whispered darkly, “It’s just a <em>hug</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Jay-lad,” Bruce said, desperate to get the words out before he woke up, before he opened his eyes to a painfully cold bed, before he woke up to his son back in his coffin, six feet below the ground.  “I missed you,” he whispered, choked, “I missed you so much.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason’s expression bled into shock, and he loosened his grip on Tim, who took several heaving gasps of air, face still red.</p><p> </p><p>“I love you,” Bruce said softly, “I—I wish I told you that, I wish I said it a hundred times, I wish you never left—” his voice cracked, and tears slipped free, sliding down his cheeks to drip onto his pillows.  “I wish I was a better father,” Bruce whispered, and watched something in his son’s eyes crack and shatter.</p><p> </p><p>“Bruce,” Jason said, his eyes shining, and Bruce squeezed his eyes shut—he knew how these dreams ended, he knew he’d hear the laughter soon, the rush of heat, the harsh, rattling breaths before the chest stilled and never rose again.  He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his son’s hairline, wishing desperately that he wouldn’t wake up—<em>please, a little longer, </em>please—</p><p> </p><p>“Bruce—Bruce, you’re acting really weird,” Jason said, his voice choked up.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Tim muttered lowly, “You’re noticing this <em>now</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay,” Bruce said, still not opening his eyes—he wanted to fix the image in his head, Jason alive and well, not bleeding and broken.  He took a hitched breath, and his heart felt like it was being torn into two.  He didn’t want to say it, but—but if he did, maybe he would wake up before he had to watch his son die all over again.  “It’s just a dream.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s a dream?” Jason asked, confused.</p><p> </p><p>“This,” Bruce hummed, curling one hand into Jason’s hair and the other around Tim’s shoulders, holding his youngest sons close.</p><p> </p><p>“My ribs beg to differ,” Tim hissed.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, kid,” Jason snapped, “Bruce, this isn’t a dream.  Open your eyes, old man.”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Bruce shook his head—it was a trick, a trap, he knew it—</p><p> </p><p>“Bruce.  <em>Dad</em>.  Please.”</p><p> </p><p>And he couldn’t refuse that voice.</p><p> </p><p>Bruce exhaled and opened his eyes, steeling himself for the nightmare—blood dripping down the chin, eyes wide and bloodshot, nose broken, bruises blooming, desperate, rasping gasps as bloody lips moved, trying to form the letter <em>B—</em></p><p> </p><p>Jason stared at him, concerned.</p><p> </p><p>Bruce ran a hand through his hair again, pausing on the white streak—odd, but Jason had always chosen the strangest trends to see if they’d get a rise out of Bruce—and brushing it out of Jason’s face.</p><p> </p><p>“This isn’t a dream,” Jason repeated fiercely.  Bruce smiled softly—that was his son, stubborn and determined to make the world bend to his will.</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t believe me,” Jason said flatly.</p><p> </p><p>“Jason,” Bruce said, feeling his heart wrench again, “You’re dead.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Tim spoke up from his position half-squished between the two of them, “I have some questions on that as well.”</p><p> </p><p>“I told you to shut up, Replacement,” Jason snapped.</p><p> </p><p>“Jason,” Bruce said disapprovingly, “Be nice.”  It echoed the frequent admonishments he’d given to Dick and Jason, the specter of the same argument raised again—Jason had been Robin, Tim was now Robin.  His subconscious was making a lot of connections tonight.  “Besides, didn’t you <em>want</em> a little brother?”</p><p> </p><p>Well, it was more along the lines of ‘<em>I don’t need Dickface, I’ll get my </em>own<em> brother and show that sanctimonious—</em>’ before it had been cut off by Alfred’s stern eyebrow, but this was a dream, so logic didn’t count.</p><p> </p><p>Jason blinked, and glared down at Tim, who attempted to wriggle away.  Bruce caught him before he could extricate himself from the pile of now-twisted blankets.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t want one like <em>this</em>,” Jason muttered angrily.  He always looked adorable when he pouted.</p><p> </p><p>“Can we circle back to the whole ‘not dead’ thing?” Tim asked, “Because I really think that’s more important here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Such a <em>good</em> little Robin,” Jason sneered.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, I am <em>not</em> taking this shit from someone wearing a dead boy’s face—”</p><p> </p><p>“Boys,” Bruce rumbled, slinging a hand over Jason’s shoulder and tugging so that they were all squeezed together.  “Behave,” he huffed into Tim’s hair, letting his forehead rest against Jason’s.</p><p> </p><p>There was a beat of silence.</p><p> </p><p>“Who are you?” Tim hissed, “Why are you impersonating Jason?  And what did you do to Bruce?”</p><p> </p><p>“First of all—fuck you.  Second of all—<em>fuck you</em>.  I didn’t do anything to Bruce!  I should be asking that question to <em>you—</em>you broke him!”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce sighed.  He should be happy no one was throwing punches.</p><p> </p><p>“I tried to <em>fix </em>him!  You’re the one that broke him—you’re the one that <em>died</em>!”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, you know what, Replacement—”</p><p> </p><p>Yet.  No one was throwing punches <em>yet</em>.</p><p> </p><p>There was a furious, hissed argument that Bruce ignored, stroking Jason’s hair and allowing himself to enjoy every second of this extended dream, forcing himself to live in the moment.  Jason was jabbing a finger into Tim’s side, and Tim was struggling to elbow Jason as they traded insults, continuing to argue about imposters.</p><p> </p><p>Jason abruptly broke off, pushing away from Bruce so he could take a proper look at Tim.  He reached out and pinched the younger boy’s cheek, frowning slightly, “…You’re the baby stalker.”</p><p> </p><p>“What.”</p><p> </p><p>“The kid.  With the camera.  I grabbed you when you fell off a rusted fire escape.  That was you, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Tim was silent for a long, stretching moment.  “Bruce didn’t know about me before I told him,” he said slowly.</p><p> </p><p>“What, did you think I told him <em>everything</em>?” Jason huffed, scowling.</p><p> </p><p>Tim sucked in a too-fast breath.  “…Jason?” he asked, high-pitched.</p><p> </p><p>“You believe me now?”</p><p> </p><p>Tim squeezed his eyes shut and made a small whimper, “Bruce was right.  This is a dream.”</p><p> </p><p>“Relax and enjoy it,” Bruce advised, rubbing his shoulder, “Before it ends.”  Angry, scowling, furious, it didn’t matter, as long as Jason was warm and alive.</p><p> </p><p>“This <em>isn’t</em> a dream, and I will absolutely punch you to prove it, Replacement.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t care,” Tim muttered, squeezing closer to the older boy and burying his face in Jason’s shirt, “Not waking up.  It’s a dream.”</p><p> </p><p>“Jay-lad,” Bruce murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair out of Jason’s bemused face.  The expression shifted to bewilderment, annoyance, before finally settling on resignation.</p><p> </p><p>“World’s Greatest Detective, my ass,” Jason grumbled, “Family of idiots is more like it.  You know what—fine.  It’s a dream.  Go back to sleep.”</p><p> </p><p>“Jason?” Tim said, muffled.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>What</em>,” Jason’s eyes flashed again—vivid green.  The color was niggling at him, but Bruce couldn’t figure out why.</p><p> </p><p>“Just—just wanted to tell you,” Tim hesitated for a wavering beat, “You were my favorite Robin.”  Tim’s ears—the only part of him currently visible—flushed a deep red.</p><p> </p><p>Jason looked like someone had told him that they were burning his books—shocked and furious and <em>hurt</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“You—I—<em>you can’t say that.</em>  No.  <em>No</em>.  I refuse to hear it.  Shut up and go to sleep, Replacement.”</p><p> </p><p>Bruce felt his lips twitch as, despite the harsh tone, Jason began absently petting Tim’s hair to lull him to sleep.</p><p> </p><p><em>My boys</em>, Bruce thought happily, and curled tighter around his children.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Jaybird!”</p><p> </p><p>“Wha—<em>fuck—</em>get <em>off</em> of me, Dickhead!”</p><p> </p><p>“Nope!”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Ow—</em>what the hell did you do <em>that</em> for?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hair for a DNA check, Jaybird.  You really scared Alfred.  He thought everyone had lost their minds.”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t do anything,” Jason hissed, and Bruce finally cracked his eyes open to see Jason bundled up in Dick’s arms, his movements constrained by the blankets but his seething expression providing clear testament to his displeasure.</p><p> </p><p>“Dick?” Bruce asked slowly, and his eldest son’s smile swung to him.</p><p> </p><p>Bruce felt a chill go down his spine.  That wasn’t a pleasant smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Bruce,” Dick said cheerily, his eyes icy cold, “Want to tell me why you didn’t mention that Jason is alive?”</p><p> </p><p>The cognitive dissonance was jarring.  “He’s not,” Bruce pointed out, trying to ignore the narrowed eyes, “This is a dream.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick laughed.  The sound wasn’t happy, and Tim shivered, still half-asleep.  “Not a dream,” Dick said, his voice upbeat, “And not a hallucination,” he poked Jason in the cheek.  Jason snarled.  “I would know,” Dick said wryly.</p><p> </p><p>Bruce was beginning to feel the first stirrings of concern.  “Dick,” he said slowly, “Jason’s dead.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s definitely what you told me,” Dick hummed, “Really, Bruce, I thought we were on better terms.  And yet you didn’t think to <em>mention</em> that you put my<em> little brother</em> in a <em>Lazarus Pit</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>Dick’s voice shifted all the way into a snarl by the end of the sentence.  Tim tensed.  Jason froze.  Bruce stared at Dick, his mind attempting to process the words and running headfirst into a wall.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t,” Bruce said numbly, as Jason said, his voice quiet, “It wasn’t him.”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean, <em>it wasn’t him</em>,” Dick said, his voice flat, “Little Wing, <em>who—</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“Talia.”</p><p> </p><p>“Talia,” Dick repeated slowly, “<em>Talia al Ghul</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>Those bright, bright green eyes.  The streak of white.  Older, taller, bigger—missing scars that Jason used to have, that the Pit could’ve certainly washed away.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes?” Jason answered tentatively, his voice small.  Dick’s expression was perfectly level, but his eyes were a raging storm cloud.</p><p> </p><p>“The number of questions I have has tripled,” Dick said levelly, clutching Jason tighter and letting out a slow exhale, “But you know what?  It doesn’t matter.  I’m glad you’re home, Little Wing,” he said softly, pressing his face to Jason’s hair, “Gods, Jaybird, you have no idea how much I missed you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m beginning to get the picture,” Jason said hoarsely.</p><p> </p><p>“Jason,” Bruce breathed out—he couldn’t believe this was real, he couldn’t do that to himself, he <em>couldn’t—</em></p><p> </p><p>But it didn’t matter.  Desperate hope was rising inside of him, and all of his self-control wasn’t up to the task of corralling it.</p><p> </p><p>Bruce reached out, slow and careful—Jason would disappear as soon as his fingers touched him, would turn back into that corpse, would gasp out his dying breath as the nightmare shattered him—and inhaled sharply when his hand curled around a warm, pink cheek.</p><p> </p><p>“Jay,” he whispered, “<em>Jay</em>.  You’re here.  You’re <em>alive</em>.  My son.”</p><p> </p><p>“Dad,” Jason choked out, and Bruce enveloped all three of them in a hug, his heart swelling in a burst of unimaginable joy.</p><p> </p><p>If this was a dream, Bruce was perfectly content with never <em>ever</em> waking up.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“All of my children in one place.”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not all—you have another son, B.  Damian al Ghul.”</p><p> </p><p>“…Alright, I’m going to <em>break</em> that woman’s <em>nose</em>, I swear.”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This ended up being really soft, wow.</p><p>Also I had an urge for some protective big bro Dick.</p><p>Jason's POV of beginning scene. [<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29792421/chapters/76033808">Batcellanea ch27</a>.]</p></blockquote></div></div>
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